


Remains

by LoKandGoT



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, Blood, Character Death, F/F, Happy Ending?, POV Second Person, Pain, Suffering, V1-V3 has happened and some parts of V4 but V5 is completely different, sassy weiss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-02-10 22:23:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12921447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoKandGoT/pseuds/LoKandGoT
Summary: There is no absolution for being the worst thing that ever happened to your team.But now. Now you are going to change this. You won’t stop until Adam is gone.AKA Blake's one woman rampage against the White Fang





	1. Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> Hello All!  
> This is my first fic for RWBY so I really would love feed back about what you liked and didn't like. Honestly, be honest. I enjoy hearing from everyone so don't hesitate to write to me.  
> I know not everyone likes second person, but I find it easier to write in.  
> Some plot stuff, volumes 1-3 have occurred according to canon; however, volume 4 is slightly divergent and volume 5 isn't canon at all. Although this season is killing me its so good.  
> I was listening to Dopamine by Steve Angello when I wrote this and it may be a good reading companion.
> 
> Anyways,
> 
> Thanks for reading!

“All I want is _you,_ Blake.”

You’ve heard him say your name countless times before. But it’s never been like this. It’s never been so full of contempt and hatred. A foulness seeping from the bump of the ‘B’ and the click of the ‘K’.

It had been so long since you’ve heard him say your name at all. Since you had last seen the glint of his mask, the glow of his hair, of Wilt. Since you realized the full extent of just how far he’d be willing to go to get what he wanted.

You should have stopped him when you had the chance. You should have tried to get him to see reason. But it’s far too late for what ifs.

The slap doesn’t come as a surprise. Adam had done it before. His fits of rage always taken out on you. Bloody noses and split lips. Like every other time, it knocks you down hard.

Throbbing pain radiates across your cheek. Dust fills your nose, stinging your eyes, as you crash against the broken concrete of the dining hall.

The once beautiful, gleaming halls of Beacon crumbling. Being torn apart by a hatred so deep within Adam that he seems more Grimm than man.  

There is a maniacal energy around him as stares down at you, contemplating his next move. Clearly, he hadn’t expected to see you here. Despite knowing that it was the White Fang that had lead the Grimm into Beacon, there was a part of you that had hoped and prayed that Adam wasn’t with them. That perhaps your absence had forced him to see the cruelty in his actions. You couldn’t have been more wrong.

He holds himself with a righteous fury that you’ve only seen once before. You had failed to stop Adam then, standing by his side as he slaughtered a town of innocent humans, like they were nothing. But not again. Not this time.

Gambol Shroud’s grip is slick with your sweat, your fingers sliding against the soft rubber. Smoke envelops around you, clogging your nose and painting everything in a dirty haze. You manage one. Two shots. Before the ominous scarlet of Wilt glows through the smog as it absorbs the shots.  

He’s faster than before. Angrier than before. Stronger than before. His foot collides painfully with your arm, snapping the sheath from your grasp. You shrink back pathetically as long strides draw him closer.  

“And as I set out upon this world and deliver the _justice_ mankind so greatly deserves,” he spits, crouching down until his face looms inches from yours. You can smell the saltiness of his sweat, the rot of the Grimm that he’s killed. You can’t help but curl away, cowed by threat, by the disappointment of your tragic attempt to stop him. “I will make it my mission to destroy everything you love.”

Flashes of yellow burst behind your eyes. Of red. Of ice blue. You grit your teeth. Your mind is screaming at you to fight back. Don’t let it end like this. Fight _back_!

“Blake?”

Your heart twists in your chest. Clenching painfully at her voice.

No.

Not her.

“Blake? Where are you?”

You try desperately to ignore her pleas, but your traitorous body is practically pulling you towards her. A golden ray in the darkness surrounding you.

She’s far off. Outside of the dining hall, at least. Well out of Adam’s range. And you pray to the gods that she doesn’t see you. Because you can’t. You can’t let Adam anywhere near her.

A harsh breath across your cheek draws your attention back to Adam. His face is turned into a cruel leer, gloating in his victory.

“Starting with her,” he snarls.

Wilt scratches against your abdomen. A startling shade of red against the pale white of your skin. The tip dips into your skin with nothing more than a twitch of his wrist. His head tilts, eyes following the trail of blood that seeps around the blade with a sickening interest. He jerks again and you can feel every inch that Wilt plunges. The burning. The burning is unbearable. Your hands scramble frantically at the blade, its edges slicing into your palms. Adam hums in delight, low and guttural. Wilt pushes further and this time you can’t help the scream that rips from your lungs.

He rips the blade out and you can hear the splatter of your blood against the ground. You can smell the coppery tang as your hands clutch desperately at your side.

Your ears are ringing and your eyes are glazing over at the pain, but the fire from Yang’s explosion draws your attention away from Adam. Smoke and grit and flames blaze around her like a tempered halo.

“Get away from her!”

You barely manage a panicked plea for her to stop. For her to think this through. To just let you go. That this fight is much bigger than you. That you aren’t worth being saved.

But Yang is in the air before the words reach your lips.

Adam’s sword is like liquid fire as it takes Yang’s arm. Swift and ruthless in its destructive arc. She lands so heavy that you can feel the tremors in the earth around you.

All you see is crimson. Adam. Wilt. The blood. There is so much blood. He flicks Wilt clean and smirks at the sight of her motionless body.

The ground shreds your palms, your knees as you launch yourself at Yang, grasping at her shoulders. You can’t breathe because Yang isn’t moving. Because her arm lies limp and lifeless a few feet away. You can’t _breathe._

This can’t be real.

You blink rapidly, frantically willing your body to wake from this nightmare, but when you open your eyes once more Adam is only closer and Yang is only growing paler.

Her blood is slick in your hands as you cup the back of her head cradling her in your arms, blonde hair matting in the mess of red on your fingers.

Adam’s approach cuts through your panic. His footsteps the only sound in the cavernous hall. Wilt glinting ominously in low light of the fires.

“Why must you hurt me, Blake?”

Far away there is a loud crack and you jerk awake, a scream jammed in your lungs. Tears stinging at your eyes. You scramble frantically at the sheets that have somehow wrapped around your torso, your neck. You can’t _breathe_. Flashes of yellow hair and blood soaked clothes fill your mind. You fling the covers away and collapse to the floor, the sting of the fall and the coolness of the tile cutting through the haze of your dream.  

There is another loud pop and an accompanying flash of lighting lights up the room. You jerk at the sound, your lungs jump starting at the jolt, screaming their relief with each gasping breath.

It was a dream.

You aren’t there anymore. Adam can’t hurt Yang.

It was just a dream.  

Trembling hands press against the aching scar on your abdomen. It twitches with a phantom pain long since dissipated, but your body still feels like it is on fire. You push sweat soaked hair back from your face, letting out a ragged breath to slow your thrumming heart. 

The room is humid, the storm outside clashing with the summer’s scorching heat. Rain pounds a steady beat on the sidewalk outside, the only sound in the room, except for your harsh breathing. Your clothes are drenched in sweat, a byproduct of the dream and the sticky heat around you, clinging uncomfortably to your body. Gooseflesh ripples up your neck as a breeze billows through the open window. 

That _dream_. It plagues you every night. Without fail, playing on repeat since it happened. Some nights are better, you wake with a racing, aching heart and not much else. But tonight was… bad. Still shaking hands evidence enough. You rub at your face, wiping away quickly drying sweat and the trail of tears that had soaked your cheeks. Your body is drained, mind exhausted but you know you won’t get any more sleep. You can’t. Because you know if you close your eyes, all you’ll see is Yang’s broken body.

You barely manage more than a couple of hours of sleep these days before the dream undoubtedly wakes you once again. Before you watch Yang fall for you once again. Before you watch Adam take _everything_ from you once again. It has left you with dark bruising around your eyes. With a pain seared so deep into your heart that you know you will never be the same.   

Life is full of mistakes. And yours is well versed in tragedy. Pain and heartbreak, sorrow and loss. It follows you around like a lost puppy.

But your worst mistake, the one that you will never forgive yourself for, was your decision to attend Beacon. Being a naive child and thinking that he would just leave you alone. Trusting that you had hidden your tracks well enough that he would _never_ be able to find you. And you let that sense of security get into your head. You let your guard down. You made friends, finding that deep inside you are capable of loving people. Because you love your team more than you ever thought you could love anyone.

You put them all in danger because you were stupid enough to think you had gotten out from Adam’s grip.

There is no absolution for being the worst thing that ever happened to your team.

But now. Now you are going to change this. You won’t stop until Adam is gone. Until he is no longer a threat to the people you love. It will never change what you did. For getting Yang hurt, for leaving them all behind without a word. It will never be enough to allow yourself even a distant sense of forgiveness, but knowing that Ruby and Weiss and _Yang_ will be safe is enough.

It will always be enough.

You take a breath, closing your eyes for just a moment, grasping at and gathering the remains of who you used to be before this all happened. Back when you were happy and free. It’s the only thing keeping you sane in the mess the world has become.

Splintered wood pricks at your knees as you shakily stand to your feet. Everything in the room swirls around you momentarily and you press your hand against the swell of nausea in your stomach. Sleep deprivation and your complete lack of self-care starting to take its toll. Your aura isn’t even able to deflect the most minor of injuries. Horribly colored bruises and large blisters evidence enough to what you are doing to yourself.

The sudden crackling of the police scanner on the night stand by your bed draws your attention away from the churning of your stomach.

“We’ve got a robbery in progress on Harbor Street. Assumed White Fang Activity. Suspects are considered armed and dangerous. All responding teams are advised to use extreme caution,” a shrill voice reports.

Dane.

You’ve been searching for him for months. Ever since you left Beacon. Rumors of his survival of the fall of Beacon had been swirling around Vale for a while, but you only got concrete evidence of it when you arrived in Mistral.

He’s broken into three dust shops this week. Dozens more prior to that. The reports have always been the same, brutal massacres of innocents. All the dust gone without a trace.  

You cross over to your desk quickly and pick up the coat from the back of the chair. Its old leather, tattered and riddled with bullet holes. Black, except for in the well-worn areas, now gone soft with the amount of use it gets.

Your clothes from before were the first things to go when you ran. Still splattered in blood and reeking of your cowardice. They were constricting. Stealing the breath from your lungs. Skin prickling and red-hot beneath the arches of the Belladonna emblem.

Your parents would be ashamed of what you did. Of who you’ve become.

So you bought new clothes from a street vendor in the bowls of Mistral. Heavy black combat boots and black pants with thick straps that lace up your thighs. A small magnetic strip is attached to the belt hanging low on your hips that you attach Gambol Shroud to. The jacket’s hood drapes low over your face, casting it in dark shadows. You’ve become like the night. Flitting in when you’re called and leaving before you can be caught.

It’s better this way. Safer.

Especially, with how you’ve been spending your free time.

You pull a thick bandana from your neck up around your nose. Sharp teeth have been inked into the black fabric, blood dripping down the fangs. It seems oddly appropriate that you would dawn the face of the monster. The monsters that humans think the Faunus are. But this time. You won’t be hunting down humans. You won’t be standing by Adam’s side as he slices down innocent after innocent.

The radio pops once more, an update on the suspect’s location. They’ve scattered, fleeing into the city as the cops approached. Good. It’ll make finding Dane easier. It’ll make taking him down painless.

Gambol Shroud clicks into place on your hip, a comforting weight that hasn’t changed in all the years that you’ve had the weapon. Extra rounds of dust bullets clip onto the other side. If this goes south. If Dane puts up a fight, you need to be ready.  

Your eyes flick across the room, landing on the far wall. Faces of dozens of people cover the surface. A few have slashing red x’s through them, though most are blank. Pieces of string connect the pictures together, but they all lead back to the picture in the middle. His proud smirk and glowering eyes.

Adam Taurus.

You pick up the pen on the table and scratch an x across the picture of Dane.

His time, like the others, has finally come.

The sky is dark. Night made more ominous by the menacing clouds. You grasp the window ledge and haul yourself over, landing quietly on the small ledge just outside. The stone is slick from the rain and you nearly slip as you launch yourself across the small gap to the roof of the neighboring building. You land a little clumsily, ankle tweaking at the angle it’s put in. A grimace crosses your face as you lament in the degradation of your aura.

You can practically hear Weiss’s indignant retorts regarding your health. Oh so reminiscent of when you were still at Beacon. But those days are long gone.   

Getting your bearings (Mistral is a maze of a city), you crouch down low, skirting across the top of the building. The occasional clap of thunder muffling any sounds you may make as you fling yourself from roof to roof until you are nearing Harbor Street. One last jump. The wind whips at your face as you soar between the roofs. Water splashes into the air as your hands slap on the slick metal, stinging at the jolt, before you tumble to a stop, peering over the edge of the building.

Not a soul dares to venture out in weather like this. The street lamps flickering uselessly in hopes that someone may need their rays to guide them through the dark.

An unnerving silence settles over you, an involuntary shiver racing your spine. The rain has soaked through your clothes in a matter of minutes, seeping deep and numbing your skin. Black hair mats on your forehead in thick, streaming strands. Water drips down your face in rivulets, stinging at your eyes. You wipe desperately at them, before giving in and pulling up the hood. It offers little relief, but at least you can see without the burn of the rain.

Perched on the corner you wait for any signs of life. He’ll show himself eventually. And you’ll be ready for when he does. The ears on the top of your head are perked, twitching, waiting.

There. A can skitters across the main road from a side street and he comes lumbering into view.

His steps are jerky, stumbling down the street, blood soaking the right shoulder of his shirt. The mask on his face is cracked, a gash stretching across his forehead. Dark eyes flick around the street, panicked and alert.

He stops near a store front, breathing heavily, clutching at the wound likely attained from a shootout with the cops. A small pistol, police issued, shakes in his white knuckled grip. Droplets flick from his body as he spins in place a few times before he chooses a direction and darts down an alley.

Pain spikes up your calves as you land with nothing more than a soft thump, easily drowned out by the storming rain.

The fresh, wet, earthy smell of the rain hitting the asphalt tingles your nose as you grit your teeth and sneak into the alley behind him, creeping from shadow to shadow.

Your grip is tight as you pull Gambol Shroud from its sheath. Tiny sparks hiss off the tip of the blade as grazes the ground. Sharp and deadly. Ready to strike. You are silent. One with the night. Blending into the shadows and melting into the noise.

A loud clap of thunder rumbles painfully in your ears and they tilt back atop your head. It’s only a moment before the accompanying lighting flash slashes across the sky illuminating the brick walls around you.

Your shadow stretches out, long and foreboding, and Dane stops in his tracks.

“So it’s true. There is a huntress tracking down members of the White Fang.”

“I’m not a huntress,” you spit, the words stinging like a venom on your tongue. “I lost the right to that title long ago.”

He shifts, mask tilting over his shoulder, “What then? You’re a traitor to your own kind? Siding with the humans that have persecuted us since the dawn of time? Disgusting,” he snarls.

“No.” It’s a whisper, audible to only yourself. “I’m just righting wrongs.”

With a grunt you hurtle Gambol Shroud at him. It wraps quickly around his legs, tripping him as he tries to step away. He falls with a sharp crack as his jaw hits the ground. Long strides over the puddles brings you to his side. The glint of your blade pulls a squealed plea from him, begging for his life.

“You should have thought of that before you attacked innocent people,” you say, lowering yourself so you are close to his face.

“If you kill me,” he gasps as you press your knee to the center of his back, “you’ll attract attention. They’re already watching Mistral. They know of the guys you’ve already taken out. Adam will come out here and deal with you himself.”

His name makes a shiver run up your spine. For a moment you consider abandoning your plan. Running away like you always do, as far away from him as you can. But lilac flashes through your vision and you know that what you are doing, who you are working to protect, is the only motivation you need.

A grim smile manages to stretch across your face, “That’s my plan exactly.”

You stand, placing the tip of Gambol Shroud at his neck.

He whimpers as the cold metal dips into his skin. You can see the fear in his eyes as they dart around helplessly, before clenching closed.

It would be so easy. To just end it here. He wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone else. He wouldn’t be able to aid Adam’s twisted plan for the destruction of Anima. A droplet of red pools around the black metal.

But as you step back, rearing Gambol Shroud back, its blade glinting in the night, you freeze in place.

No matter what. You would never kill another person, faunus or human, unless it was the most dire of circumstances.

Your heel slams into the side of Dane’s head and his features quickly go slack.

It was the first rule Ruby ever made. It was the pact on which you formed the team. To save lives, even if it cost your own.

You may not be a huntress anymore. And you may not be the teammate you once were, but you will never cross that line again. Adam had forever tainted your soul before you ever attended Beacon. But all that pain. All that suffering that he caused will end with him.  

You poke gently at his cheek with the side of your boot to ensure he is out cold before pulling a radio from your pocket.

“Suspect is apprehended. Body can be found on the cross roads of Harbor and Boone.”

A voice barks from the other side almost instantly, gruff and furious, “Who is this? How’d you get on this line?”

You ignore the police captain’s question and flick the radio off, before looking back to Dane.

Never stood a chance.

Quickly, you drag his body out to the street, sitting him up against a lamp post. He’s the thirteenth White Fang member you’ve apprehended since you left three months ago. And he certainly won’t be the last. All you need is to stop enough robberies, enough murders until you catch Adam’s attention. And when you do. When he realizes who has been stalling his plans, he’ll come for you personally. And when he does you’ll be ready.

Your ears perk as they pick up a couple sirens a few streets over. Crouching down you pat Dane’s cheek, a small smile gracing your lips, before slipping back into the alley. Back into the night. Back into the shadows.  

 


	2. Revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not super happy with how this turned out. I didn't get a chance to proofread it so if you find any glaring errors let me know.  
> But like always I thrive off of finding out what y'all thought, so please comment on what you liked, didn't like, etc.

Thirteen days. Thirteen days, gone and passed, since you apprehended Dane. And nothing has happened. For the first time Mistral is silent. The streets empty, the police scanner silent. Even the petty thefts and disturbances have ceased. Thirteen days and the White Fang has failed to retaliate to their twenty-first member being arrested by the Mistrialian Police.

You may not be a member of the White Fang anymore, but you aren’t an idiot and you know Adam.

He’s planning something and you need to find out what it is.

There is only one place where reliable information is flung around with thick tongues and slurred words. The only indication of its existence is a faded, peeling sheet of metal roughly in the form of “McQueen’s”.

The bar is old. Clearly built in the early days of Mistral. Though you suspect the area was much nicer then, than it is now.

For as silent as it has been, the bar is crawling with less than honorable individuals and criminals for most of the night. Pouring out of every crack and crevice, like maggots in a rotting corpse, sneering as you walk by. Their heads on a swivel, one eye always open, peering over their shoulders for any eminent danger.

You wait until the comings and goings of the bar slows to a stop.

Sweat and the bitter burn of tobacco lingers in the bar, sinking into the crumbling leather and seeping into the cheap wood paneling. The air is hazy, a testament to the popularity of the bar at its peak hours. But now that most of the patronage is gone, all that is left is the stink and an old man passed out in the back booth.

The bartender’s appearance is befitting of his establishment. A greasy and balding head with a beer belly from too many years of tasting his own product.

He doesn’t pay too much attention to you, his eyes focused instead on cleaning a glass with a questionably sanitary rag.

“We’re closed,” he says, finally looking up when you approach the counter.

His shoulders slump when he catches sight of you. “Not you again.”

You ignore his glower, “I need more information.”

He practically snarls at that, “Listen lady,” a chubby finger gets pointed in your direction, “I’m losing business because of you. No one wants to go to a bar where they can’t trust the bar tender with their drunken secrets.” He rubs his nose, “I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’.”

The rag gets thrown rather unceremoniously onto the gouged wood and he spins around, rearranging his collection of black market-esq alcohol as a silent dismissal to you.

You place your hands on the bar top, grimacing at the sticky residue left behind from one too many spilled drinks. When he still refuses to turn around, you hurdle the bar and land silently behind him. With practiced ease you grab his wrist and twist his arm behind his back, shoving his hand between his shoulders. He cries out in shock and you slam his face into the counter.

You lower yourself so that your mouth is inches from his ear, your voice a snarl, “What. Is. The. White. Fang. Planning.”

“I don’t know! Please just let me go,” he whimpers.

You quickly push his elbow up, shoving his forearm further between his shoulder blades. “Alright! Alright!” he screams. “He’s sending in the Albain brothers,” his voice is a harsh with a gasping pain, “Adam. Word is Adam is sending in Fennec and Corsac. Tons of his guys have gone missing without a trace. He has them investigating.”

Interesting. It seems that the chief of police hasn’t been broad casting that he has some of the most influential White Fang members in his custody. Though you don’t blame him. You wouldn’t want the full force of the White Fang coming down on your small prison either.

“What else?”

“They’ve pulled everybody out of Mistral until they can find out what is happening to their guys. The brothers. They showed up last night. Asking a bunch of questions.”

You release some pressure on his arm, “Where are they staying?”

“They’re going to be at the Wolves’ Den tomorrow night. They’ve been bouncing around so that they aren’t in one spot for too long.”

You let go entirely and he groans as he brings his arm to his chest, rubbing his wrist. You’re back over the bar and by the door by the time he turns around, his voice carrying out the door. 

“I hope you know what you are doing. These guys are coming for blood!”

 

* * *

 

The Albain brothers. You’ve heard of them. Their legend steeped in murder and greed like most of the White Fang. But it is the brutality and ruthlessness that set them apart. The missions they were sent on, only to return covered in blood with matching sadistic grins. It wasn’t long before Adam heard of them, before he called them to his tent and praised their actions. Before they rose through his ranks, earning their right by his side with each slaughtering kill.

So, yes, you’ve heard of them. You’ve heard the stories. But it is the nightmares and the memories that linger in your thoughts that come to mind when you hear their name. How their tainted fingers have burrowed into you, leaving dark stains on your soul. How on the night of your initiation into the White Fang - the night that you pledged yourself to Adam’s mission - they thrust a sword in your hand and told you to kill a man in front of his wife and daughter. How you followed the orders without blinking. How you watched the light leave his eyes and looked to them for praise. How you later learned that all that man had done was leave the White Fang because he didn’t like the methods. How Fennec and Corsac crossed his name off the list of those that have betrayed them, betrayed the brotherhood.

They left you to clean up the mess. To dispose of his body. You'll never forget the look in his wife's eyes as you wrapped his body up in the rug he was laying on and drug him into the backyard. You'll never forget how long it took you to dig his grave, how the shovel dug into your palms until they were blistered and bleeding. You don't think that his little girl will ever look at her flower garden the same again, knowing that her father is six feet under her peonies. 

It didn't come as a shock when you found out that your name is now on the top of their list. 

 

* * *

 

The Wolves’ Den is a startling contrast to McQueen’s. Located in the upper portions of Mistral is reeks of posh gamblers and shady businessmen.

Expensive wood and velvet chairs adorn the room with Black Jack and Roulette tables in the far corner. Patrons sit around with cigars in their mouths and whiskey in their hands, eyes frowning down on anyone with less money than they.

You find a table near the back. Just enough in the dim light that wandering eyes won’t question why you are by yourself, but enough in the shadows to hide your face. There are a few tables around you and a window for easy escape if it comes to such drastic measures.

The bar is directly in front of you, a few people sitting along the row of high backed stools. If history has proven anything that is where the Albain brothers will go first. Quick to step into the spot light and boast of their missions to anyone who will listen.

Your eyes track the movement of the drunkards stumbling around the room, catching on each face and willing for the next to be one you recognize.

The door on the far side of the room opens and your eyes snap to its movement. Familiar fox ears and a flicking tail send a roll of nausea through you but you swallow it down as you watch the brothers grin and sit at the bar. As if there isn’t blood under their nails and sins following their every step.

They order a round, one whiskey and a double of gin, and clink their glasses together before downing the shots and ordering another.

Your ears are twitching and your fingers are rubbing the mask along your neck. It would be so simple. To just stand up and kill them both. They deserve it. After everything they have done. They deserve to suffer.

Your hand drifts down to Gambol Shroud’s hilt and you grip it tight. Flashes of plunging the sword into their backs flits across your mind. Watching the blood seep through their clothes as they gasp and gape at the one who finally stopped them. To finally get the vengeance you’ve so desired for against them.

The grim mask is halfway up your face when a mug of beer is slammed onto your table.

The foam splashes over the side and you shove back from table almost toppling your chair in the process.

“Of all the places I’ve looked, I certainly didn’t expect to find you at a bar like this.”

You nearly choke when you hear her voice. It’s as elegant and sassy as the day you met her, but the underlying care gives her away.

Your eyes rip away from the foam dripping off the edge of the table to the woman standing next to you, arms cross and an unimpressed look securely on her face. All you can manage is a strangled, “Weiss?”

Her brow cocks up at that, lips turning into a frown.

The door swings open again and this time the air gets punch from your lungs. Lavender eyes land on you immediately and you stumble back so quickly, the back of your knees hit your chair and sends you crashing into the table behind you.

Every head in the bar turns toward the clatter, but all you can see is the devastation written so clearly on Yang’s face. She’s stopped in the doorway, Ruby's dark hair bouncing behind her as she jumps to see what is happening.

It isn’t until a body is slamming into your own that you remember why you were here in the first place. The momentum of your bodies sends you flying over the rest of the table, your back slamming into the ground. All air seems to leave your lungs and you are left gasping as you try to fend off Fennec’s feral punches at your body. 

“Blake!”

Weiss’s startled shout seems to kick everyone into motion. The regulars flee from the bar, yelling about damn hunters and ruining the last good bar in Mistral. Yang and Ruby push past the mob of panicking people, throwing elbows and pulling out their weapons. The crowd parts and they make their way over to pull Fennec off of you. Ruby offers you a hand as Yang shoves a snarling Fennec into a neighboring table.

“You alright?” Ruby places a hand on your shoulder, a small smile on her lips. It’s just enough of a distraction for Corsac. His Sai is pulled, swirled and splashed in grey, a violent blast of wind bursting from its tip. Ruby goes flying into the wall, her head smacking against the wooden paneling. Her body goes limp instantly.

You can barely make out Yang’s shout for her sister over the wind. It buffets and crashes against you, tucking under and attempting to lift you from your feet. You struggle against the tornado, hunkering down against the attack and digging your feet into the cracks in the ground. It’s successfully for only a moment before your feet skid and slide across the beer strewn floor. Your stomach drops as your body gets ripped from the ground and sent hurtling through the window. It explodes into a maelstrom of destruction, glass shards ripping at your skin and clothes. You hit the ground hard, your aura flickering a dark violet. You struggle to your feet, glass nipping and tearing at the tender skin of your palms.

“Traitor!”

Corsac’s lithe form jumps through the window, a snarl on his face. “You filthy traitor!”

You pull Gambol Shroud from its sheath right as he charges, his face contorted into a manic roar. His weapon comes down in raging, wild arcs. Sparks burst from your blades, the clash reverberating through the square, metal quivering under the force of the blow. His eyes are wide as he glares down at you, spitting foul words. You twist your body, spinning out from under his dagger.  

He stumbles a few steps back, his dagger pointed in your direction. A red glow spirals around the point. Your body moves before your mind even has a chance to process. The sheath streaks through the air, a faint hiss as it spins. Corsac dives to the side, the cleaver barely grazing his shoulder before it buries itself into the bar’s wooden wall with a thunk.

“You are going to pay for this Belladonna. When Adam gets his hands on you,” he flashes his teeth in a menacing grin. “You don’t even know the meaning of pain.” 

He lets out a sharp yell and runs at you. You barely manage to parry his movement when he is bring it back down to lock with Gambol Shroud. Heat pours off his Sai, the spirals glowing an even brighter crimson. Your eyes flick to the blade and back to his face, a snarl on your lips. Flames spark along the barrel before a fireball launches from the tip. You let out a shriek as the fire grazes along your shoulder and quickly dive to the side. Blast after blast launch after you, but his shots are wild, flying in every direction. They’re easy to dodge, using your remaining aura to send out shadows for the shots that get a little too close for comfort.

You are mid flip when he barrels toward you. His Sai comes first. It nicks your skin before ripping through the muscle of your shoulder. His hand comes next finding your throat and pushing you back until you slam into the door of the inn across the street from the bar. The wind is knocked so hard from your lungs that you are gasping for breath and that allows Corsac to get in a few good punches. One, two. On the third the telltale sign of your nose breaking has him laughing with glee. You take his brief pause and manage to get your leg between the two of you, sending him staggering back a few feet.

You wobble on your feet, wincing as your aura flickers some more, a silent scream on your lips as you pull the dagger from your shoulder. It clatters to the ground with sickening splatter as your blood drips from its edges. Corsac’s eyes roam over you before he smirks and brings his knuckles to his mouth, his tongue flicking out for just a moment, tasting your blood on his skin.

The sound of splintering wood draws your attention and you see Fennic go crashing through the bar’s door. He quickly gets to his feet, shouting in fear, and sprints down an alley.

Corsac lets out a strangled, “Brother!” as a large summoning of a knight crunches its way through what’s left of the door. Corsac snarls at you before turning away and launching himself at the knight.

You barley spare it a glance before taking off after Fennec. This is your only chance. You will never be able to face the brothers like this again. You won’t let them escape.

His body casts a long shadow through the alley, his steps jerky as he scrambles up the fire escape along the side of the inn. Rusted metal creaks under your heavy steps and you ignore the pit in your stomach forming from the sound. One fall from this height and your aura will be gone. Your chance lost forever.

Sweat forms at your brow, your lungs heaving as you get to the top. Fennec is pacing near the edge of the building, his hands resting against the top of his head.

“It’s over Fennec. You aren’t leaving here.”

He gnashes his teeth at you, but makes no move to get closer. Sweat is gleaming on his brow and a look of panic is starting to form on his face.

You stalk closer, determined to end this once and for all when the roof below you, grumbles and crumbles away. Your body jerks and suddenly you are falling. You hit the support beams for the roof, careening off and landing on a platform below. It takes a couple gasping breaths before air finally makes its way back into your lungs. Slowly, you get to your feet, eyes wide in fear.

Flames lick up the walls and race down the carpeted dining hall below you.

You bring your wrist to your mouth choking into your sleeve as an acrid burn fills your lungs.

Corsac’s wild shots of fire dust have lit the building on fire. The wooden supports urging the flames higher and higher.

You stagger a few feet and are sent into a bought of coughing, the smoke so thick it feels like cotton being stuffed down your throat.

Crazed laughing from above draws your attention and you see the blurred outline of Fennec.

He jumps down into the flames and lands soundly on the beam across from you, his dagger drawn and smirk in place.

You reach for the familiar comfort of Gambol Shroud only to find air in its place.

“It seems you are all out of luck,” he grins.

The words from earlier ring through your head,  _no second chances._ You rush at him. Leaping across the small space and landing on the beam with practiced grace. A ferocious scream leaves you as he slashes across your forearm with his blade. The hit barely registers as you slam into his body, a sure hit square to his chest.

His arms flail as he attempts to regain his balance, but you can see the moment when he realizes he is falling. The moment where he realized he has lost. His cries are lost to the roar of the flames and you watch as his body is sucked into the fire.

You're eyes are glued to his body. The thrashing of his limbs as he tries to staunch the flames engulfing him. His screams are like nothing you have ever heard, more monster than faunus. He calls for his brother, he calls for Adam, but slowly his movements jerk to a stop. His body is stiff as it collapses to the ground, fire eating away at his flesh. You have to look away, breathing out a sob of relief. That could have been you. One wrong step and that could have been  _you._   

“Blake?”

Her voice is panicked and hoarse. You blink a few times, taking your eyes off of where you watched his body fall and look to the roof. The sky is clear through the hole, though smoke is billowing all around.

Yang is near the edge, arms up and braced against the heat. You try to yell up to her, but the words get caught in your throat. A bought of coughing crushing your lungs.

“Blake!” It comes again and when you look skyward once more Yang has found you. She’s yelling something but you can’t hear what she is saying. You take a step forward, reaching out to where she has leaned down, only for the beam beneath you to suddenly fall away. 

Her scream rips through the air and it hurts more than the wood that splinters beneath you. Than the flames that kiss your skin. You land with a sickening crunch and know that your aura shattered.

The grotesque smell of burning flesh fills your nose and you swallow down the bile rushing up your throat knowing that it’s coming from Fennec’s charred corpse. 

Your eyes are watering, the smoke gaging you. It’s impossible to see and the inferno around you only seems to be getting bigger. The whole building seems to shudder around you, more beams falling from the roof. Painfully, you roll onto your stomach, pushing to your feet. It’s a messy, loping struggle, but you manage to drag yourself to the closest door. It’s mostly burned away, ash clinging to the embers in the remaining wood. When you push, it falls away completely and you collapse into the cool night air. Your lungs taking in harsh gasping breaths.

You barely hear the sound of footsteps approaching before the night fades into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at lifeandlemons.tumblr.com come yell at me about stuff


	3. Falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What what! An update? Ten years later, but yes an update none-the-less. I just want to say thank you to all of you who have stuck with me and read this and for everyone who has commented. Honestly, your comments are what keep me going and wanting to finish these stories. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you guys like this chapter. I really liked writing it cuz I'm and angst monster.  
> Also do yourself and listen to Parachute by Jaymes Young while you read this because its perfect.
> 
> (10/14 i updated some parts of this chapter because i was fairly unhappy with it. So yeah... hopefully ill get the next chapter out soon)

You wake to Fennec’s screams in your brain and your own tearing up your throat. Hands pull at your shoulders tugging you back down into the flames. You struggle against them, only to pull your bed sheets away from your throat, gasping away the remains of your dream.

It takes you a few minutes, but you realize you are in your room. You don’t remember much after you fell through the roof of the inn. Fennec’s burning body, certainly, that will forever be seared in your mind, but you don’t remember how you got here. You sit up gingerly, favoring your right shoulder, your ribs screaming as you move. A haphazard scan of your room shows that it is empty. Dark shadows bleed across your floors as the sun just barely starts its ascent into the sky. You blink a few times before digging your fingers into your eyelids trying to rub the burn from them. Flinging the sheets away, you swing your legs off the bed. They feel weak, you feel weak. And everything _fucking_ hurts. Pushing off the bed you stumble over to the cracked and chipping mirror above the bathroom sink.

The shattering of your aura had done some damage. Your face is splattered with black and blue, the arch of your nose off center and clearly broken, a stream of dried blood dripping from it and down your chin. Using the back of your wrist you try to scrub away some of the crusted red. It doesn’t work and only serves to remind you of the ache in your ribs. Carefully, you pull the hem of your shirt up, revealing a horribly splatter of bruising along your torso.

“Shit,” you hiss, cursing yourself for being so careless. Some gentle, very gentle probing around reveals that you have a couple broken ribs, the others just badly bruised. Letting the oversized shirt drop pulls at the collar and exposes a neat line of stiches along the ridge of your shoulder. “What the hell?” You’ve never done that before. You’re reaching up to trail your finger over the thread when a voice sounds from behind you.

“So, this is what you’ve been up to for the last three months.”

You nearly jump out of your skin, whipping around to see Ruby sitting in your desk chair, neatly hidden in the shadows. She’s staring at you, a deep scowl etched onto her face. You’ve no idea how long she’s been sitting there, but it’s obvious it’s been long enough for her temper to broil to a seething rage.

“Ruby,” you breathe, flashes of the bar coming back to you. Flashes of meeting lavender eyes and feeling like your chest had been caved in.

She looks away at her name and you take the moment of reprieve from the intensity of her glare to study her. Her hair is longer, the red almost completely faded from the ends. Her cheeks have finally lost their child chubbiness and now they are hard, etched like granite. You wonder if it was watching Beacon fall or if it was watching two friends die right before her eyes that did that. Maybe it was finding out that her sister had almost died. Either way, Ruby was no longer the child that Blake had left behind.

She stands up and walks over to your cork board. She’s most definitely taller, probably taller than you now. Her hand wavers over a few of the faces that you have etched out before she heaves a great sigh and turns back to you. This time her face is impassive, but it’s her eyes that nearly cleave you in two.

“Did you kill them?” It’s a whisper and it’s almost a killing blow.

“No,” you gasp, “I would ne-” you cut yourself off because saying you would never would be so far from the truth. You thought about it. You thought about how cleanly Gambol Shroud would slice through the skin of the people you had once called your brothers and sisters. You had even acted on it. Fennec was dead because of you. Whether or not it was at your blade was irrelevant. He was still dead, and it was your hands that had forced him into the inferno.

Ruby nods, solemnly for a moment, her eyes still scanning the faces.

“How did you find me?” you rasp.

That earns you a chuckle. She walks over to your desk and picks up a newspaper, “The Shadow of Mistral,” she reads the title aloud before tossing the paper back onto the desk. “You weren’t that hard to find.”

You can’t keep her gaze and look to your feet, bare against the scuffed wood.

The silence lingers and stretches. It’s overwhelming and you are starting to feel light headed.

Ruby breaks the quiet once more, her eyes tracking you as you go to sit down on your bed. “You know you almost died right? Smoke inhalation or so Weiss says.” Your eyes flicker up to hers for a moment before you look away. That wasn’t a surprise. You’ve been lingering on death’s doorstep for quite some time now. “She found you first and you weren’t moving at all and I-” she takes in a deep shuddering breath. “I was afraid that I was going to watch a third friend die before my eyes.”

God. It felt like someone had their hand clenched around your heart. “Your aura was gone, Blake,” she continues, her eyes flickering over you once more. Her voice raises in pitch. The underlying hysteria deep in her words. “Your clothes were charred… there was blood everywhere and Weiss. God. It was all over her and I thought she was hurt, but it was just yours. It was yours and she was trying to get your shoulder to stop bleeding and I-I…”

“I’m sorry,” your voice cracks. You hope it sounds sincere. You’ve been careless with your life, but you had been careless because you thought you would never see your team again. That they were free of you and would never have to deal with the pain you would inevitably cause.

But they had found you and here you are, once again hurting the people you care most about.

She swallows, her throat bobbing hard with the movement, pushing down the panic that had crawled its way up. “Weiss and Yang are at the market. They’re getting food for _you_ ,” she says harshly, “since it seems that you are fine with just letting yourself wither away. But we aren’t.” A hand wipes beneath her eyes and she sighs, turning on her heel. Her hand is gripping your front door, “For what it’s worth, Blake, I’m really glad you are alive. Even if you don’t seem to care.”

* * *

 

Ruby’s unceremonious scolding left you winded and drained. The moment she left, you let yourself fall back in bed, promptly passing out. It wasn’t until the curtains were fully rucked back and the sun was beating into the room at full strength that you woke once more with a groan. Weiss is standing in the warm rays that are filtering into the room, her hair glowing almost golden. She’s turned away from you, face angled to collect as much sun as possible. Her voice is soft, “How are you feeling?”

You rub at your face giving a non-committal shrug. She turns her head over her shoulder and gives you a lingering stare, but when it becomes clear you aren’t going to offer anything more she walks over to your kitchen. Rummaging around in your sad excuse of a fridge, really it was more of a box with ice at the bottom, she pulls out a can of tuna. Drool is practically dripping down your chin when she brings it over to you, top pulled away, and fork sticking out.

You are ravenous, a few days without eating had done that. The aroma alone has you shoveling the food down your throat. Weiss clears her throat, looking pointedly away from your horrendous inhalation of food, “You haven’t eaten in a while, Blake. I would suggest slowing down or you might get sick.”

You manage a few more hurried bites before Weiss’s words ring true. The familiar roll of your stomach has you dropping the can and stumbling to the bathroom. Bile races up your throat, burning your esophagus as you promptly empty the contents of your stomach. Weiss floats into the room and you can practically feel the smugness wafting off of her. The quick brush of her knuckles against the back of your neck sends chills up your spine. She gathers and pulls your hair away from your face, neatly tying it back with a band she found on the bathroom sink. You grunt your appreciation before another wave of nausea races through you. She hums quietly, the low cadence of her voice blocking out the sounds of your dry heaves.  

When your shoulders have finally stopped shaking and your eyes have ceased watering you collapse away from the toilet. Weiss helps you to your feet and is basically carrying you back to your bed, propping you up against the headboard. She flits away for a moment and comes back with water, “Drink _slowly_ ,” she warns with a glare.

You do as she says, taking small sips from the glass before leaning back and closing your eyes. You’ve almost fallen asleep once more when Weiss finally speaks, your bed dipping as she sits down next to you.

“You know… it was quite scary.” You open your eyes. She’s staring intently at you, her gaze flickering over the bandages covering various parts of your body. “I found you sprawled on the ground, laying in a pool of your blood, and you were so still I thought you were gone.” She stops, licking her lips very quickly, pushing down the emotion that was warring on her face. “It’s not my best work,” she points at your shoulder and you finger at the stiches along it, marveling at the tiny threads. You’ve always relied on your aura to take care of the damage. It’s so odd seeing such a primitive method hold you together. “But as long as you get some rest, rebuild your aura, you should be fine in a couple days.”

Fine? You don’t think you’ll ever be fine.

“You didn’t have to do that, Weiss,” you mumble, a strange bought of anger bubbling out of you at her words. Why would she ever want to care for you after everything you had done? It’s your fault that any of this happened. She should be furious with you. “I’m no longer your teammate. You don’t have to take care of me anymore.”

Weiss scoffs at you, her face turning to the ceiling as she closes her eyes in disgust, “We have never been very close, Blake. Often at odds. Our differences tall hurdles that we had to jump over in our relationship,” Her face snaps towards you, “but _you_ are _my_ teammate. And whether you think you are or not doesn’t matter. You are _my_ teammate and I will never leave you when you need my help.”

You feel like you’ve been punched in the gut for the second time today. Weiss’s words holding more meaning to them, than just a caring teammate. She’s angrier than her calm demeanor is letting on. And she’s talking about you. She’s talking about how you left. How she never would have.

“I’m sorry.” The words are starting to hold less and less significance the more times you say them. Especially, when they come from your traitorous, lying lips. “I just didn’t want any more people to get hurt because of me.”

Weiss rolls her eyes so hard you fear that they might get stuck, “You are almost as dense as those books you read. No one wants their friends to get hurt, Blake. No one actively seeks out trouble. Things happen. If they do… when they do,” she amends, “when something happens, it doesn’t matter that you didn’t want people to get hurt. All that matters is how _you_ fix it,” she says, pushing a finger against your shoulder to drive home her point.

“Besides,” she says quieter, “I’m not the one you should be apologizing to…. Yang has been searching for you for three _months_. And when she does find you, you are hanging on to life by a mere thread.”

She turns to look at you, “She deserves to know why you left, Blake. She deserves to know that you left her because you thought it would keep her safe. But most of all she deserves to know that you still care. Not only for her, but also for yourself.”

* * *

 

You find Yang on the roof of your building. It had been an excruciating twenty-minute climb up the rickety fire escape to get there, but you managed with the help of Weiss. Her hands steady as they clung to your arm and kept you from keeling over. Being so drained of your aura was strange. You’ve never experienced anything like it, the sheer lack of strength in your muscles. Energy just seeping from you like air escaping a popped tire.

Yang is sitting on the edge of the building, her feet kicking idly into the air. You can’t help it when your eyes latch onto the golden arm. It takes but a second before she stills, her head tilting ever so gently your direction. She’s always had a second sense when it comes to you. Always knowing where you were. Always calling you over to her side. But this time she is silent, and you are frozen in place.

Weiss gives your arm a gentle squeeze before she makes her way down the stairs. Yang turns her head to look back over the city and the silence stretches and pulls at your heart. You aren’t sure what to do. It’s never been like this before. There has never been a tension so palpable between you and Yang that it feels like the air has been removed from your lungs. Not to mention you didn’t think you would ever see her again. You didn’t think that you would ever have to face this moment, to tell Yang that you are sorry for leaving but why you had to. You didn’t think you would live that long.

A gentle sigh floats over the breeze and finally Yang shifts. Her right foot gets tucked up to her body and she angles herself so that she can see you better. She simply motions for you to join her and the weight that had settled around your lungs pops. Your steps are jerky, muscles strained and sore, as you make your approach. Lavender eyes watch your movements, worry bleeding from them with every blink. She offers out her hand to help you sit down, the metal glinting in the lowlight. You hesitate. It’s just for a second. A microsecond of pause. But it’s enough for Yang’s face to harden. The openness that you saw when you first approached gone faster than you could blink.

Her hand is retracting when you flail, your hand snatching out to grab hers. Her eyes snap to yours and before you can even process what you are doing you are pulling Yang to her feet. Shock and hurt are still pulling at her features as she just gazes at your face. You can’t really even begin to imagine what Yang is thinking… what she is feeling.

The movement is so quick that it steals your breath. Yang has you in a crushing hug, one hand wrapped snuggly around your waist and the other burying itself in your hair.

You blink a few times in surprise before Yang pulls you closer, her voice but a breath, “I missed you _so_ much.”

Her words topple the damn. You let out a dry sob before it turns into a wail, your knees giving out as you pull Yang as close to your body as you can. She turns her head and buries her face into your neck. It only makes you sob harder.

“I’m sorry,” you cry, “I’m so sorry, Yang.”  

You are sputtering incoherently, surprised that you managed to get the first couple of words out, a mix between apologies and how much you missed her. A wet chuckle, a warm breath, skates across your neck and Yang is pulling away. Her eyes are wet, tears streaking down her own face.

“Hush,” she says, a shaky smile on her lips. Her hands leave their posts on your body before they are cupping your cheeks and her thumbs are wiping away the streams on your own face. Your hands clamp around her wrists as you babble out something else. Yang’s face clenches before she blinks away the new wave of tears that arrived at your words. It’s in slow motion as she leans in, her forehead bumping against your own.

You let out a shuttering breath and Yang hushes you once more. She swallows once, twice, before taking a steeling breath, “Promise you won’t just leave me again. Promise you won’t just disappear,” she whispers.

You shake your head so furiously, scrunching your face with agony, knowing full well this is not a promise you can keep.

“I promise.”     

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any other questions you can find me at lifeandlemons.tumblr.com


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